


Like Ducklings

by Ernmark (M_Moonshade)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Gen, The Penumbra is sentient and maybe a little eldritch, but she loves you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/Ernmark
Summary: They’re sweet, silly, adorable things, every one of them. Impossibly tiny, their lives so brief, but they shine so very bright. And she loves them dearly, all of them.





	Like Ducklings

**Author's Note:**

> allisonmclaughlin88 asked:
> 
> Kinda vague but I’ve been thinking about the penumbra itself, like as a character, and the stories it might be able to tell from both incarnations?

Like ducklings, her Conductor tells her. Millions upon millions of ducklings. 

They’re sweet, silly, adorable things, every one of them. Impossibly tiny, their lives so brief, but they shine so very bright. And she loves them dearly, all of them.

Chance– brave, bold, kind Chance– might know an inkling of that feeling, the way she gathers children to her bosom, the way she brings them food and clothes and shelter and a beautiful schoolmaster to teach them their letters.

She can’t do that, much as she would wish. After all, how would they learn? How would they grow? How would they even understand?

How could Juno Steel know how much she loves him, how she nestles his apartment into the space between her walls so he can sleep safely, though all of Hyperion City might wish him harm?

How could Marc and Talfryn comprehend that she watches their every adventure, that their heroics make her beam with pride, even when nobody else can see?

Does Samantha Smalls know how much she treasures the stories she tells, woven in the stains on her laundry? 

Does PSR-J0-826 know that she heard his final masterpiece– that she keeps the poetry of his dying breaths clasped in her room like a picture in a locket?

Can her Travelers feel it when she settles her roof over their heads to shelter them from the world outside? Can they hear it when she shows them her other darlings and whispers, softly, that they’re not alone?


End file.
